


Caught in the Act

by umathurman



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umathurman/pseuds/umathurman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kink meme:</p><p>"Dorian 'borrows' some of the books Solas ordered. As punishment he has to read them aloud while bent over the desk, and Solas spanks him for every mistake. Solas should be a calm dom, never raising his voice but effortlessly powerful."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act

**Author's Note:**

> I want to be very clear that there are consent issues in this fic. A scene is initiated without consent, and while the opportunity to leave is eventually given, the 'sub' is in no mindset to make a decision. This is not how safe, sane, and consensual kink works and while I believe it's realistic to the game setting and both characters would believe it was fine, I want to make sure any impressionable young minds out there know that good BDSM involves a lot more clear communication.

Honestly, Dorian hadn’t intended to avail himself of several choice texts that Solas had reserved for himself. He had picked one up, true, but he had only meant to glance at the introduction, perhaps see which sources were listed and attempt to find another tome on the topic. The elf hoarded the most interesting books in the library with a fierce intensity that Dorian couldn’t hope to rival, a matter of endless frustration for him. He had pleaded with the Inquisitor to limit the number of texts that could be held by one individual at a time, but she had merely laughed— _laughed!_ —at him, accusing him of taking literature too seriously.

He had, once, even attempted to challenge Solas directly about it. He had walked in to discover that Brother Genitivi’s _Tales from Beneath the Earth_ , returned by one of Cullen’s men only a few hours earlier, had been swept into the elf’s stack of books. Dorian, driven beyond aggravation, had made a polite request to peruse it for a few hours. He had been polite. Courteous, charming, even flirtatious! And the thrice-damned elf had simply raised a single eyebrow at him, and said, flatly, “No.”

Dorian had made every honourable effort to get his hands on the best tomes the Inquisition had to offer, but he had been thwarted at every turn. With his every frustration, he imagined he could see a hint of a smirk lurking in the expressionless elf’s eyes. It was enough to drive a man to blood magic!

And so, he could hardly be blamed for his current position, hunched over his second book in the span of an hour and a half and flipping greedily through the pages. The causes of a mage’s level of power were rarely questioned in Tevinter, where the Magisters preferred everyone believe they were simply innately superior; this author, however, suggested that the degree of magical power was related to the amount of time a mage spent in the Fade as a toddler and young child. It was a fascinating concept, and…

“Dorian.”

So lost was he in the world of science, that the simple word broke through his haze like a thunderclap and Dorian dropped the book in surprise. It tumbled out of his slack fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud, a few pages bent underneath it. He winced and went to pick it up, but fingers closed around his wrist and held it firmly.

Slowly, he looked up. Solas was standing over him, looking stern and disapproving. Dorian’s throat went dry.

“Solas!” he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant, welcoming tone. “I thought the Inquisitor would keep you busy a little longer! I was merely, well…”

He was uncomfortable aware of the elf’s grasp on his wrist, his nimble fingers surprisingly strong. Dorian’s skin tingled where they made contact. 

“You were merely taking what isn’t yours. I have those books reserved, as you well know,” Solas said, and Dorian was struck by the urge to stand. Upright, he had the physical advantage, and surely couldn’t feel this much like a naughty child caught with a hand in his mother’s baking.

Unable to make eye contact anymore, he looked away, searching around the library for anyone who might come to his defense. There was no one. It was late enough that even the Tranquil had retired to her chambers.

“Yes, well, I don’t happen to believe that it’s right to reserve a book when you’re not even reading it!” he said, aware of a shrill edge to his voice. “How is anyone else to get any research done when you gather all the best books and hoard them like a dragon?”

Solas gave him a look that somehow managed to reflect the utmost disdain without any real change in his features; Dorian might have been awed, had he not been so annoyed and (frankly) nervous. All at once, the elf’s grip slackened and Dorian’s arm swung free.

Solas dropped to his knees and picked up the book, smoothing the bent pages as best he could. Dorian grimaced at the damage he had done—no, the damage that _Solas_ had done, frightening him like that! But the thought was of little comfort as Solas got back to his feet and placed the book on the table at Dorian’s side, fixing him with a flat stare.

“You’ve damaged it,” he said. “One of three copies in all of Thedas.” 

Dorian was no coward. He had faced his father’s rage and disappointment, countless demons and rogue mages and templars, had even made his way through time… but he quailed under the weight of the elf’s disapproval.

“You made me drop it!” he protested, realizing too late how childish the retort sounded. 

“Get up,” Solas said calmly. 

For no reason that he would later be able to explain, Dorian obeyed.

His legs were a bit shaky underneath him and he was forced to put a hand on the rough wood of the desk to steady himself. At the first change in position for several hours, he became aware of several things: the ache in his back, the strain in his eyes, and the beginnings of tingling arousal. 

_No,_ he told himself firmly. He did not find being chastised arousing, nor was Solas’s superior demeanour in any way appealing. 

"Now see here,” he said weakly, “I don’t know who you think you are, but…”

“I see,” Solas cut in calmly, “I am an elf, and you are a Magister, and so my claims are meaningless to you?”

“What? No!” Dorian could feel himself flushing under the impassive gaze. His voice dropped to a mumble. “I’m not even a Magister.”

“Well, you’re certainly behaving like one,” Solas said crisply. “If you don’t believe yourself my better, then are you a child, unable to wait your own turn?”

Dorian remained silent, and looked down at his feet. He was struck by memories of his father lecturing him, back when he’d been the best man Dorian knew, telling him off for a cruel joke. Or when he’d been ten years old, and asked a slave to tidy up his room when he knew it was his chore. It had been _months_ before his father rescinded his command that the slaves ignore their young master’s demands.

“I… apologize,” he said stiffly, and backed away several steps.

Solas followed him.

The elf’s face was calm, but his walk was almost predatory. Even more heat flooded to Dorian’s face as he realized that the low tingle of arousal in his groin was becoming more intense; it was only a matter of time before he began to stiffen. 

“Do you believe that is enough to remedy your rudeness?” Solas asked.

How had Dorian never noticed his _aura_ before? Solas held himself with power and dignity, and there was a stern self-assurance to his words that made Dorian want to drop to his knees right there. Andraste, all this over a few borrowed books!

After a few moments of silence, Solas stepped away from him. Dorian thought for a moment he meant to let it go—but he only moved as far as the desk, turning back towards him with one of the books in hand. One of the ones Dorian hadn’t yet opened, a Genitivi— _Tales of the Destruction of Thedas_.

“Come here,” Solas said. 

Dorian obeyed without a thought—his feet carried him to the desk even as his mind made token protests. A distant part of him registered the thought that at any moment someone could walk in and break the bizarre spell of the room. His mouth was paper dry, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. 

“Since your need for these books is so urgent, I would hardly be so cruel as to continue to deny you,” Solas said, and the book was pressed into Dorian’s uncomprehending hands. “Read it.”

Dorian stared at him, his brow furrowing quizzically.

“Out loud,” Solas specified. 

“I don’t…” Dorian began, although he didn’t know the rest of the sentence. He didn’t understand? He didn’t take commands from self-righteous apostates?

“Out loud,” Solas repeated. “Now, if you please.”

Uncertainly, Dorian opened the book and held it up. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“The… Arrival of Giants,” he began. The words wobbled. “While historians often cite the darkspawn as the single greatest threat to Thedas, most people--”

His recitation ended in a wordless gasp of surprise. In his distraction, Solas had been in motion; first, stepping behind Dorian, and then putting a firm hand on his lower back and propelling him until he was flush against the desk. Shocked, Dorian made no move to resist. 

“Bend over.”

Dorian’s jaw gaped as he twisted his head around to stare at the elf in shock. “I… had no idea you enjoyed that sort of thing, Solas,” he said, but his words didn’t come out mocking and frivolous as they should have.

“I’m only going to ask you once more,” Solas said mildly, his tone brooking no further jests. “Bend over.”

Dorian, his cock rock-hard beneath his robes, bent over.

He had been in this position before, of course, but usually naked in the dead of night, with some nobody he would ever see again. Never had he been… displayed in such a manner, with seemingly no purpose save to shame him.

“Now read,” Solas said, as calmly and matter-of-factly as if everything was completely normal. His voice sent shivers up and down Dorian’s spine.

“I…” he said weakly, robbed of words. “Solas… what…”

_Smack._

The elf’s hand collided with his backside with tremendous force even through his robes, and Dorian let out an undignified yelp. He could feel the hot sting radiating across the cheek.

It took a long second for him to realize he had just been _spanked_. The heir to House Pavus, an Altus mage, trusted companion to the Inquisitor, had just had his bottom smacked like a recalcitrant child.

“Read,” Solas said. His voice gave no hint of what had just happened. “From the beginning, I think.”

Dorian could not name a time in his life when he had been more humiliated. The shame was complete, compounded by the thought that anyone wander in at any moment. He was harder than he had ever been in his life.

He ought to have refused, but instead he forced the words out of his mouth. They stuttered out as shyly as if he were a blushing virgin.

“While historians often… cite the darkspawn as the greatest single threat to Thedas, most people would say… they are a more remote threat than the invaders called the Qunari. There has not been… There has not been…” His voice faltered, and he stopped to clear his throat.

_Smack._

The blow landed on the opposite cheek, where it smarted and stung. The elf was strong! Were he not wearing his robes, Dorian imagined he would have matching red handprints. He fought the urge to grind his erection into the hard wooden desk even as he spoke up in protest.

“Really,” he said unsteadily, “This is… most undignified, Solas, really.” 

He probably ought to have seen the third hit coming. It landed so loudly that Dorian thought for a brief wild moment that all of Skyhold must have heard.

But then, to his surprise, he could feel Solas backing away slightly behind him. 

“I will not force this upon you,” said the voice, surprisingly gentle. “If you wish to leave, you may.”

Well, that was that, then! Dorian could simply stand up, flee to his room and masturbate, and forget that any of this ever happened. There was no reason to submit to this.

He remained where he was. 

“In that case,” Solas murmured after a moment.

All of a sudden, there were hands, lifting up his robes. Dorian made a choked noise as they were folded up, exposing his silken underthings. Never had he felt so wanton, bent over for punishment. He closed his eyes against the shame.

“That won’t do.” 

The next moment, his underthings were being pulled down to his thighs, and he was utterly exposed.

He could feel the weight of Solas’s gaze on his naked flesh, slightly pink from its chastisement. He knew Solas could probably see a glimpse of his more… intimate parts. He thought, almost hysterically, that there would be no justifications or excuses he could make should anyone walk in. This was, he imagined, the sort of perverted behaviour his father had envisioned when he’d learned of his predilections. The sort of shame he’d pictured his son bringing to House Pavus.

“Now, look to that book you were so desperate for, and read,” Solas said.

Dorian swallowed back laughter at the absurdity of it before refocusing his attention on the text in front of him. The words were swimming before his eyes, but he blinked until they refocused and began to speak, haltingly.

“There has not been a blight in over four centuries, after all, since the hero Gala… Gara… Garahel—”

He was expecting it this time, but the blow hurt so much worse on bare skin that he couldn’t hold back a shout. He had never been spanked as a child, but he had seen how his playmates would whine and carry on after a thrashing; he had always assumed they had been exaggerating. How much could a few swats hurt? The answer, it turns out, was rather a lot. It felt as though Solas had set fire to his ass. Worse still, the smack jolted him forwards, grinding his cock against the desk. A rush of arousal went through his body, so powerful he feared for a moment he was going to spend himself.

This time, he needed no prompting to continue. “Since the hero Garahel defeated the Archdemon at the Battle of Ayesleigh.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Over a hundred years later, in 6:30 Steel Age, the first Qunari ships were reported off the coast of Par Vollen in the far north, marking the beginning of a new era of warfare.”

Solas hummed approvingly as Dorian concluded the paragraph. “Continue.”

“Gold-skinned giants said to hail from an eastern land across the... Boeric ocean, the Qunari are a… a…” Dorian’s voice gave out, and he didn’t attempt to begin again, tensing himself for the reaction.

A hand came to rest gently on his smarting bottom. Solas waited as Dorian enjoyed the coolness of his palm and calmed slightly. However, the moment Dorian relaxed his muscles, the hand raised and came down with a sound like a thunderclap.

He whimpered, a broken sound of pain and arousal. He was spanked twice more in quick succession, his hips rolling against the wood in a desperate movement he couldn’t control.

“Why is this happening, Dorian?” Solas asked casually.

“Because…” Dorian fumbled for words. There was so much blood in his face he could barely believe he had enough to spare for his erection.

 _Smack._ The pain was no longer a stinging; it was a fire ravaging his ass, a deep bruising pain, the best and the worst thing he’d ever felt.

“I stole your books!” he yelped, before another blow could land. “I took them without permission!”

“That’s right,” Solas said. “Finish the paragraph, Dorian.”

Part of Dorian wanted to beg, to say there was no way he could continue to speak. His words were his weapons, and it was cruel to turn them against him in this way; to turn his silver tongue to lead and then punish him for it. But the cruelty was delicious, and so he clutched his fingers more tightly around the pages and read.

“The… Qunari are a, a mystery to most people. To some, they are hated… hated conquerors whose deadly skill at com-- combat and destructive technology nearly… nearly… nearly brought the civilized world to its knees… Andraste’s knickers!” With each falter and pause, Solas delivered a harsh slap, attacking Dorian’s tender thighs as well as his buttocks. He found himself panting as though he was running a race.

He forced himself to take a steadying breath even as he was spanked again, before continuing.

“To others they are heathens, worshippers of a strange religion that seek to spread it to lesser races by force.” Proud of how smoothly the sentence had come out, he went on. “Still to others, such as in the southern lands of Ferelden, they are a legend, strange creatures worshipping—that is, strange creatures from the far north—”

His voice broke in the middle of the word “north”, a strangled whimper as he was struck again. His buttocks were almost certainly glowing from the abuse, he could _feel_ it. The sensations were so intermingled he couldn’t distinguish between them—the fiery pain and the red hot arousal were one, so overwhelming he pressed his face against the book’s paper pages.

“Continue, Dorian.”

The words were accompanied by a smack to his right thigh, and he felt tears shining bright in his eyes, threatening to fall.

“I can’t, please Solas, please, I need… I need…”

He was hit again. Once, twice, three times. Each blow was unbearable; he was raw, bare, stripped down to his essence and feeling every detail of the hand making contact with his flesh as a cacophony of sensation. He rutted his hips helplessly against the desk, moaning like an animal, and…

Solas spanked him a final time, and he came.

He had never spent himself like this before, without a hand on his cock. He knew he was crying out, but the pleasure was so intense he couldn’t hold himself back. “Fuck!” he gasped, as the last spurt of cum splashed onto the desk. 

He remained sprawled there, boneless, for a minute or two. His breathing was loud and laboured. The dim library lighting was pleasant as he waited for the world to stop spinning. When he could once again move, he began to straighten—only to yelp and drop his hands to his ass. Still bent over the desk, he rubbed his cheeks vigorously, desperately trying to reduce the pain, but it was no use. The idea of even sitting down was abominable!

He heard a low chuckle, and managed to push himself upright. Turning around, he saw that on first glance Solas looked as unruffled as he had to begin with… but after a moment, he saw the signs. There was a barely-there flush on the elf’s cheeks, and his palm was bright red—likely almost as sore as Dorian’s behind. Most telling, however, was the hint of a bulge under his robes.

Dorian dropped to his knees.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Solas asked as Dorian shoved his robes out of the way. His voice hitched as his cock was pulled out. “Can I trust you to refrain from ‘borrowing’ my books in the future?”

Looking up, Dorian smirked. 

“I can make no promises,” he said, and took Solas’s cock deep down his throat.


End file.
